Physical Attractions
by NerdyJibbsOreo
Summary: Five physical attributes about each other that Jenny and Jethro both mentally reflect on.
1. Hair

_I_ _wrote the first three little chapters of this two months ago_ _but I told myself I was not allowed to publish it until_ _all five chapters were_ _written and "Reflections" was complete._ _So here we finally are! These are all basically just drabbles, except that they are longer than 100 words._

 _Story #10._

* * *

Some may find his military haircut to be dorky or unconventional, but she liked it. Sure, it had taken her some time working for him before she had gotten used to it—but she was sure she wouldn't have it any other way now.

He looked better with it clean cut, but she also liked seeing it long on occasion—it reminded her of their steamy Serbia adventure. When he had longer hair there was more to grip when he brought her to the edge—something to hold onto when she would bury her face in his neck and moan his name.

She didn't mind the rugged look of him when he let his beard grow out, but she preferred him clean shaven. His face was so handsome that she didn't think it should be hidden by facial hair.

One thing that was for sure; he was never allowed to grow out just his mustache again. She couldn't stand the look of it—it was a hideous distraction. She had felt so relieved when he had finally shaved the horrible thing off after he was finally done with his midlife-crisis margarita-safari.

She liked the cowlick that stuck up on the back of his head when he woke up, and she liked to play with it just to annoy him. His hair felt both soft and coarse at the same time, reminding her of his personality. Hair that had been dark gray when she met him was now silver, and she enjoyed the transition, because she thought he had gotten even better looking with age.

That white and silvery head of his was undeniably sexy to her—there was definitely a reason women labeled the look as being a "silver fox".

* * *

Her hair had been the very first thing that caught his attention the first time he laid eyes on her. Long, thick, red hair that curled and waved at the ends, cascading down her shoulders and back.

He remembered it had been pretty hard to pay much attention to what Director Morrow was saying the day Morrow had first introduced Jenny to him as his new probationary agent. She was gorgeous, and red hair had always been his weakness—and he was especially vulnerable since he was newly single and in need of comfort after his ex wife had cheated on him.

He knew he was screwed that day if she ever showed any interest in him, because there was no way in hell he would reject any advances from her just for the sake of "professionalism".

And indeed, the minute she kissed him on that fated second night in Marseilles, all professionalism was tossed out the window unceremoniously, and he finally got to tangle his fingers in her hair during that lust fueled night.

He liked moving her hair out of the way to gain access to her neck. He liked pressing his nose into her hair when he hugged her to breathe her in. He liked the way her hair looked spread out on the white pillows, and how mussed and wild it looked when she woke up—especially when it was his doing from the night before.

It had been a shame when she chopped all her hair off, knowing he wouldn't be able to feel her long curls, but he had discovered her short hair still had its advantages. It left her long neck exposed all of the time, always ready to be taken by his lips—and it didn't hide her breasts or smooth freckled shoulders.

There were also no longer long stray hairs attached to every part of his house or hiding in his food.

When her hair was long it was a soft and comforting orange-ish color that he loved. When it was short it was more of a fiery red color—more fierce looking—and he discovered it was just as much of a turn on.

Still, it had been a relief when she let it grow long again, and he found himself appreciating and touching it more than he had before.


	2. Voice

His voice—it was commanding, gruff, deep, and could also be incredibly smooth and soothing. Sometimes she wished he wasn't so quiet and monosyllabic, just so that she could hear it more often. Then again, she wondered if that was what made his voice so special—the fact that he used it so sparingly—because it made it more meaningful when he actually talked.

It was, perhaps, what also made it more hurtful when he spoke out of anger.

There were instances when he argued that she would also find herself feeling a little aroused, because in many of those instances they were both just tearing into each other to try and let out tension of a different nature—and it usually resulted in a hot night of trying to make it up to each other.

She liked the sounds he made on nights like those—the grunts, groans, and moans of pleasure—the way he would almost shout her name at the end. Those were the moments he was most expressive with his voice.

It didn't matter what situation they were in, anytime he addressed her as "Jen" it would grab her attention. She liked the way he said it, with that slight growl in his voice, the way it sounded so familiar and affectionate.

The sound of his laugh always brought the biggest smile to her face.

Her favorite thing was those rare nights when he would whisper "I love you" as he held her in his arms while they fell asleep.

* * *

He loved her alto voice and how expressive it was. She may have learned over the years how to mask her true emotions when she was doing her job and speaking politics—but he could always decipher how she was truly feeling just by listening carefully.

There was possibly nothing else in the world that made him feel more whole than the sound of her laughter, even if it was a result of her teasing or laughing at him. Hell, the way she sounded when she was teasing him always made it hard for him not to smile, because he loved how amused and happy she sounded.

And there was possibly nothing else in the world that made him feel more guilty or hate himself more than when he crossed the line out of anger and said something too hurtful. The way her face would look stricken for that split second and her voice would waver in response always made him realize he was the biggest bastard on earth. He always tried his best to apologize and make it up to her after those moments, and try harder to be more gentle when a work conflict arose—because he knew he couldn't live without the sound of her laughter ever again.

The way she said his name could make him completely lose track of his thoughts. It practically rolled off her tongue in a purr, and when she addressed him by his name it was usually a good sign—one of familiarity and affection. When she addressed him as "Special Agent Gibbs" she was either putting on a professional front for work, or he was definitely in hot water with her.

He loved how loud she was in bed, and how she would moan and gasp. He loved that the pleasure and excitement in her voice was a result of him making love to her.

He had taken for granted the way she said "I love you" in Paris so many years ago, but it was something he cherished every time she said it now.


	3. Eyes

His eyes—those brilliant blue orbs that made her inwardly curse sometimes because they were so damn distracting. His eyes were the first thing she took notice of when she first met him—the first thing about him that made her heart skip like she was some ridiculous high school girl with a crush.

She had learned over the years to avoid looking into his eyes when he tried to convince her to do anything, because looking into those pleading blues pretty much guaranteed her downfall and his victory.

She had wondered what the pain was that had always flashed through his eyes when they were first in a relationship, and then it had all made sense when she finally dug into his past during the coma incident. She hated seeing that pain, hated the way he looked so hurt, confused, and desperate. She loved seeing him happy, and she was glad that she rarely saw that pain in his eyes anymore—glad that he had seemed to find peace.

When he was angry or determined, his eyes almost seemed to pierce right through you. The 'Gibbs glare' that his team joked about was a very real thing—she had been on the receiving end of that glare many times.

It didn't affect her as much as it did others—she had gotten used to that glare years ago and was no longer even mildly phased by it. She also simply didn't put up with that kind of behavior from him. She did feel a little sorry for the suspects who had endured the full brunt of that glare over the years, though.

She liked it when she could feel his eyes on her when she walked into the bullpen, how they would occasionally darken with attraction when they made eye contact, and how she could feel them practically burning a hole through her backside whenever she walked away. Sometimes she would add a little more sway to her hips just to give his eyes a little more to see.

When he was in a warm and fuzzy sort of mood, his eyes would be so relaxing to look into, and they would instantly put her at ease. He may not be one for words, but his eyes said plenty, and she loved when she could look into his eyes and see how much she meant to him.

Cheesy as it sounded, his eyes were truly the gateway to his heart.

* * *

Her eyes had this spark to them that always caught his attention. As if her hair wasn't distracting enough, those green eyes of hers were always present too.

He had never paid much attention to peoples eye color over the years, it just wasn't something he thought was important. He paid more attention to hair color and body language when he met or talked with people. It was actually when Pacci jokingly asked him if he had 'gotten lost in his probie's green eyes' that he had finally noticed her eye color—and boy did he find himself getting lost in them after that.

He hated when those eyes showed fear or pain. Seeing Jenny in pain was something he could barely handle, and he despised when he couldn't do anything to make it go away. He remembered when she had nearly bled out after taking a round to the thigh back in Prague, remembered the way her eyes went from looking tortured with pain to being almost lifeless...it wasn't something he ever wanted to witness again.

He liked her eyes best when she was fired up about things. Whether she was determined in an angry, happy, or lustful way, the extra spark in them was impressive.

He liked how her eyes would change when they were intimate—how they would go from being dilated with lust to being relaxed and satisfied at the end.

He liked it when he would walk into a room and she would make eye contact with him and give that small smirk. He enjoyed those moments when he caught her eyes trying to subtly check him out.

He liked that sometimes all they really needed to communicate with was their eyes.


	4. Lips

His lips...she couldn't even define the kind of pleasure they could give.

First his lips would move, saying something that was meaningful or loving, and then before she knew it they would be kissing. His kisses would start off as soft and gentle, his lips caressing hers, and then quickly their lips would become hot and demanding with each other.

She enjoyed how his lips would trail down her neck and breasts, taking their time as he sucked, nipped, and licked. She loved how they felt on her thighs and that breathtaking moment he would kiss up from there and reach the place she desired them most...she got hot and bothered just thinking about it.

She loved the moments he would moan when his lips were on hers, or when he couldn't stop kissing her to say what he wanted and his words almost became nonsensical against her mouth. She loved the way he used his lips to try and swallow her moans and screams, and the way he would gently kiss her as she came down from her high.

* * *

It was hard for him to not stare at her lips sometimes when she talked with him. The way they would move sometimes made him want to feel them on his right then, and he couldn't believe that even something as simple as her lips could be so teasing.

The way she would bite her lip sometimes drove him mad, because it was especially then when he wanted it to be his teeth pulling at her lip rather than hers.

He enjoyed the moments where she kissed him first, because she rarely ever kissed with any kind of hesitancy—she was downright demanding and possessive.

He loved how she would trail wet kisses down his body, sucking on his neck, licking his chest, moving down his naval to even more interesting areas. The way she would suck and gently scrape her teeth against his body made him almost dizzy.

He liked how her lips would quiver and move while she moaned and murmured as he made love to her, and how she would bite her lip and try not to scream.

He wouldn't give up the taste and feel of her lips for anything.


	5. Hands

His hands were large, rough, calloused, and yet so soft and pleasing at the same time.

He had never done anything bad to her with his hands, he had only ever used them to comfort her or give her pleasure.

There were the little things that mattered so much, like; him holding her hand for no reason as they walked together, his hand resting on the small of her back, when he put his arm around her, when he would wrap his hands around her and hug her, or when he would caress her face.

Then there were the bigger things, like; him giving her a shoulder massage or intimate back rub, when he would tangle his fingers in her hair, or when he let his hands roam across her body explicitly—touching, teasing, stimulating, and massaging, making sure she was ready and just as fired up as he was.

She liked those rare mornings when she woke up and began to get out of bed, her feet not even hitting the floor before his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back towards him, pressing her hips against his and spooning her as he smiled against her neck, muttering a good morning before he began to press wet and stubbly kisses against her throat.

Sometimes he let his hands roam a little too much during times they shouldn't, like when they were in public and under agency scrutiny, but she couldn't deny that she secretly loved that he had a hard time keeping his hands off of her.

She knew that there was no other man whose hands would ever be as comforting or pleasing as his were, which was why she knew there was no other man she ever wanted in her life other than him.

* * *

Her hands were so small and soft, just like the rest of her, and he loved feeling her hands in his. He liked rubbing her hands and fingers, simply touching her and intertwining their fingers.

He liked how she would grasp his neck and play with the edges of his hair, or brush her hands through his hair and grip. He liked how she would hold onto his face or shoulders when he kissed her, or when she would tug his hips towards hers.

He liked how her hands would roam all over him, brushing down his chest and feeling the muscles around his naval, and then when they would eventually glide lower and make him moan and forget how to breathe. He liked trapping her hands in his and pulling them above her head when she was writhing beneath him.

He liked how her hands would gently grip and hold onto his body when they came down from their highs, and how she seemed to just want him to hold her and cuddle for a while after. He liked how she would play with the hairs on his chest and relax against him, letting out a content sigh as they lay there and enjoyed each others warmth.

He liked how she didn't seem to notice the little things that even she couldn't help doing in public, like resting her hand a little too high on his thigh, or absentmindedly holding his hand or wrapping her arm around his.

He knew that she would be the last woman he would ever propose to, the last one to eventually have a ring on her finger signifying that they belonged to each other—because she was the only one he had loved since his first wife, and there wasn't another set of hands that would ever fit in his as perfectly as hers did.


End file.
